


Night Mail

by dolores



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M, Post-Series, Train Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolores/pseuds/dolores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander and Oz are crossing the border. Possibly carrying cheques and postal orders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Mail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [splinterintocolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/splinterintocolour/gifts).



> Originally posted in 2004, for the Xander/Oz ficathon. 
> 
> I wrote for the lovely Otherpervert, and she wanted as much time spent in a bed as possible and conversation while half-asleep, and no angst. Many thanks to Kate for doing beta work. All mistakes and suckitude remain mine.

The curtains are thick and they let in no light; but around the edges, where folds lift material away from the frame, light creeps past. Not very often, because for the most part the sleeper rolls through empty countryside, but occasionally it will pass through a village or town and for a moment thin orange strips flicker on the walls.  
  
There are two bunks - berths, strictly speaking - but Oz and Xander share just one. It's thin, not meant for two, but they curl around each other and there's just enough room, even if Xander's left leg does dangle over the side.  
  
The small cabin's decor is somewhat dated, veneer on the walls and a plastic sink, covered with a formica lid so it doubles as a table. But it's warm and dark and the rhythmic clatter of the train is soothing. The bed is very springy, "like the back seat of a Beetle," Oz says, and its occupants undulate gently as they make their way south, back to London.  
  
Xander is drowsy; fuzzy at the edges from the double Scotch Oz had bought him in the buffet car as they left Fort William. Normally he'd just let himself drift off to sleep but he's enjoying the feeling of being half-awake, pressed against Oz so that their skin is damp from sweat, cock half-hard. It feels louche and decadent, and he wishes he had some champagne so he could dribble it over Oz and lick it off.  
  
Not that he needs champagne. He places his lips against the peach-down skin at the nape of Oz's neck, sucking gently so that he tastes the salt of Oz's perspiration and feels the shiver that runs down Oz's spine and raises his goosebumps.   
  
Oz, for his part, is wide awake, thinking. And also enjoying being licked by Xander.  
  
"Hey, Oz?" Xander's voice is thick, almost husky.  
  
"Yes, I have."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You were about to ask me if I've ever had sex on a train."  
  
"Was not!"  
  
Oz turns in the bunk, carefully so as not to make either him or Xander fall out. He gives Xander a placid look, with just the merest hint of a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Okay, so maybe I was."  
  
For this confession, Xander is rewarded with a long, slow kiss.  
  
When they part, Oz observes, "I'm just saying I had. It doesn't necessarily mean I can't do it again."  
  
"We'll need to be careful. Too hard a thrust and we'll end up on the floor."  
  
It is an exercise in restraint. Energetic thrusting is definitely out, so they are reduced to slow, careful hand movements and, once Oz is able to grab the little bottle he carries in his bag, the cautious swivelling of Xander's hips and gentle, short movements of Oz's, assisted by the constant bouncing of the carriage over each rail.  
  
Time and movement result in Xander lying face down on the bunk, Oz atop him, raised up on his left hand. His right rubs the wide, smooth expanse of Xander's back, sweeping down to the rise of his ass, then back up to where Xander's damp hair sticks in tiny ringlets to his neck.  
  
Xander is going through a submissive phase at present. This doesn't particularly faze Oz, who is, as ever, versatile. He's curious, perhaps, as to why Xander's tastes ebb and flow, but then every aspect of Xander endlessly fascinates him so this does not occupy his thoughts any more or any less than Xander's taste in country music, or his obsessive compulsive tendencies when confronted with Oreo cookies.  
  
If anything, he's most curious about Xander's eye etiquette. Xander has approximately three glass eyes (approximately because he was forever losing one or more: usually they'd turn up a week or so after being reported missing, down the back of the sofa covered in fluff), which he only wore in public. When he was alone, or with Oz or Giles or Rona, or the other handful of Scoobies who lived in London, he wore the patch. That he chose either when Willow could quite easily restore his sight was just another riddle.  
  
Oz had never asked him why – if Xander wanted to tell him, he would – but it didn't stop him wondering.  
  
And presently he's also wondering why Xander chose the day before to come out to Willow after he'd been adamant they should keep it quiet until he got used to the idea. The two of them work for the Council now, and do various odd jobs at Giles' bidding. Most recent was the delivery of another of the new Slayers not mentally fit to be out in public to Willow's home for them all, on a remote Scottish island that was once a fishing lodge for the Council.  
  
But over dinner he'd just blurted it out. Which was fine by Oz, who hadn't asked him to explain, and he would wait patiently until he got one.  
  
He remembered that Xander always told him he thought too much during sex. He got back to the job in hand.  
  
Later, when they were done and have returned to their earlier embrace, slightly sweatier and dirtier than before, and almost been lulled to sleep, Xander stirs.  
  
"You think she was really ok with this?"  
  
Oz yawns. He's tired, and this is not the first time Xander has asked the question since they left Willow on Muir Island. "Well, she squealed and clapped her hands a lot, and that usually means she's approved of something."  
  
"You know, we should tell Giles now."  
  
"I think he already knows. He's not stupid."  
  
"No, I guess not."  
  
A few more moments of silence, and lights outside flicker once more.   
  
Xander says, "Hey wait, who'd you have sex with on a train before?"  
  
But he gets no answer but deep breathing, so he presses his lips to Oz's shoulder and holds tight. He decides to wait till morning for an explanation. Until then, underneath them, the train rolls on.


End file.
